


Whispers in the Force

by Crossovers_and_Randomness



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Ben Solo is Dead, F/M, Not A Fix-It, Oneshot, Rey's Yellow Lightsaber, Reylo angst, bittersweet but hopeful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26109760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crossovers_and_Randomness/pseuds/Crossovers_and_Randomness
Summary: Rey finds a remnant of her soulmate in a surprising place. Post TROS angsty-ish Reylo oneshot.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Whispers in the Force

**Author's Note:**

> I saw the theory of where Rey's yellow lightsaber came from, I think it was on tumblr, and I immediately knew I had to write it. This is not a fix-it, it's more like a weird sad but sort of hopeful take on the end of TROS.

Rey is standing barefoot in the forest, arms outstretched and eyes closed, listening to the soft calls of the native birds when she feels it.

It’s been two weeks now, two weeks since she left Exegol, two weeks since she felt half her soul fade like mist on the poisoned planet. Two weeks of wonderings and whisperings from the others—she can feel them, as much as they try to hide it—and two weeks of studying the ancient texts, wondering what she’s going to do with her life now.

Two weeks of escaping every day into the peaceful, quiet forests of Ajan Kloss, just to _feel._

_The breeze whispers through the leaves, and the native birds call softly. She can feel the life-pulse of the trees, the animals, and even the insects crawling through the dirt at her feet. The distant pulse of the Resistance base, so many souls hurrying about their business, a muddle of a hundred different emotions and a thousand different memories. Flickers of the Jedi, their spirits wafting through the Force like a gentle Autumn breeze._

It’s only a flicker, but she knows it in an instant. Her eyes open and her arms fall to her side as she frowns, trying to catch onto the achingly familiar presence. It’s wavering, uncertain, and very, very distant.

But it’s Ben.

No, not Ben, not exactly. It’s much too weak to be a soul, even the soul of someone who’d poured most of himself into her so she could live. It’s a memory, an energy, clinging to the physical world like a residue.

But it’s something she didn’t have before.

She’s grabbing her shoes and running back to the base in less than a breath.

* * *

Rey stands on the pier of the smashed Death Star, the waves crashing at her feet and launching icy spray into the air, the sky above as grey as a broken view-screen. Memories ring like voices, screams and searing blaster-shots, a heavy darkness as acrid as smoke.

It took her only a day to trace the sense, taking off in the nearest x-wing she could find and piloting on a feeling through the paths of hyperspace, following the whispering presence through the galaxy like a firefly in the night, leading her to Endor. The ship had slid into the cavernous ruins and she was out in an instant, running to the pier where they had fought.

She doesn’t know what it is, but Ben’s energy is tied to it like a fragment of his soul.

She closes her eyes, stretching a hand out over the sea, and pulls. She feels the whisper wrap around her hand like a curious tendril, and slide toward her, with a slight resistance, as if pulling through water. With a splash, something shoots in her hand, and her eyes pop open.

Her fingers close around the cold metal of a lightsaber.

His lightsaber.

* * *

Rey is curled up in a soft chair, tucked in the corner of her small room at the Resistance base. Vines and flowers curl around the window, a bright patchwork coverlet is spread across her bed, and the corner is piled with old parts she’s collected. She’s taken the ruined saber hilt apart piece by piece, searching almost desperately for the crystal inside, the crystal that pulses with the Force and an echo of Ben’s soul. The crystal, laced with red, rises from the flayed metal and hovers just above her hand.

She closes her eyes and _feels._

She feels its pain, still holding onto the darkness its user had let go at the last. Memories pierce it like slashes from a knife, bleeding red and crackling with rage. She traces the pain as if approaching a wild animal, stroking it away, wiping away the blood and soothing the anger, fusing the cracks like she’d healed Ben’s wound.

The echo of his presence—Ben’s presence, not Kylo’s—suffuses through the crystal, growing stronger as the anger weakens. This is the presence she knows, the presence that had called her back from death, the presence that had flowed, unmarred by darkness, through her soul for a precious few hours before slipping away.

When she opens her eyes, the crystal that hovers above her hand glows a soft yellow, marred only with light scars and luminous with a wisp of the soul she thought she’d never feel again.

* * *

Rey stands in the sands of Tatooine as the suns set, the old Lars farmstead glowing orange behind her. Years of memories echo around her, young Anakin Skywalker chattering with his mother, young Luke shouting for his uncle and aunt, the voices that almost seem to whisper _this is where it all began._

As the sands swallow the Skywalker lightsabers, laying them to a final rest, Rey’s hand goes to her own saber. The tip of what was once her staff, the crystal nestled inside.

“It’s been so long,” the old woman says. “So long since there’s been anyone. What’s your name?”

“I’m Rey.” Her fingers close around the hilt at her side. The spirits of the Skywalkers dance around her like a spring breeze, and the last bit of Ben’s soul shimmers like an orb in her hand. 

The last of the Skywalkers.

Forever linked to her very self.

“Rey Skywalker,” she says.


End file.
